Captain Jack Meets His Match
by Mortissimo
Summary: ...in Captain Jack. Crossover. Slash. HarknessxSparrow.


Disclaimer: Neither of them belong to me, nor do any of the lovely and interesting people who inhabit the universes of Pirates of the Carribean and Doctor Who. Would like to own a few DVD's though.

Note of apology: Sorry. Couldn't get it out of my head. Missed a Who marathon to write it. Match made in heaven, I tell you, and it could totally happen.

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Jack Sparrow was upset. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was disconsolate, because that implied an air of despair, the idea that he couldn't get back out of this situation that he'd gotten himself into. He would admit, if only very quietly and because he was sure nobody was around to hear him, that he was going to have a very hard time of it. But he had not lost all hope. That treacherous rat Barbossa may have made off with his ship and his crew, but he would find a way out of this mess. He always did. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack Harkness was also upset. He'd only acquired this ship a few days ago, and already it was screwing up. Damn Time Agency standard issue was currently in the lower atmosphere of a planet he was about ninety percent sure was Earth. Most of this surety was due to having passed, some distance back and at very high speed, something that resembled nothing so much as an enormous eighteenth century pirate ship with tattered black sails. But he couldn't really have been sure. He was, after all, moving at a very high speed. Just like the Time Agency to build a ship that didn't just crap out and leave you stranded in orbit, but one that managed to go out with such a bang that it threw you into another time and another galaxy altogether. At least the cloaking device was still working.

About twelve hours into his exile on the tiny deserted island, Jack Sparrow had already run out of things to do. He'd explored the island twice, from end to end and in and out of every last tree. He'd even tried opening a coconut, first with his hands, then with a rock, and finally, in an act of desperation, with his sword. None of these had worked, though he'd briefly entertained the idea of shooting it open before he remembered what he needed that shot for. Right. Kill Barbossa. Vengeance seems a far-off and abstract thing when one is hungry. With nothing left to do, Jack did what all bored residents of the Caribbean end up doing. He laid down on the beach and waited for something to happen.

"Dammit!" Jack Harkness swore loudly, bashing the console with his fist as a new light announced a new problem. He was almost tempted to ignore it altogether, seeing what trouble the last emergency lights had brought him, but in the end he gave in and looked. Sure enough, the blinking red light drew his attention to the fact that his cloaking device had finally thrown in with most of the rest of the systems on the junkheap and given up the ghost. Hissing obscenities in three languages through clenched teeth, Jack tried one last time to engage the reverse thrusters and was rewarded with a faint sputter that slowed him down, though not by much. A sudden impact threw him off his feet as the bottom of the spaceship skimmed the surface of the turquoise water beneath. Even this was enough to send the ship spinning nose over jets as the few remaining onboard systems failed, one by one.

Strangely enough, something did happen. Far out on the horizon, a black slash appeared like a desert mirage, shimmering into being out of nothing. Jack stared as the thing grew larger, moving faster than he'd ever thought anything was capable of moving. At first glance he thought it might be a bird, but the thing's wings weren't moving and its speed was like no bird on this earth. As it got nearer, he realised as well that the thing was far, far too big to be any bird. It was about the size of a dinghy, with thin black fins on the sides. It looked, Jack reflected, something like a flying stingray. Climbing to his feet, he began to move towards the point on the island the thing was heading for when it touched the water. He heard a sound like tearing metal and then the thing went into a crazy spin and flew into pieces. For a long few moments he stood there staring as the pieces sank, one by one, into the crystal-clear water. Then something caught his eye. Movement among the wreckage, something that looked like arms flailing. Before Jack knew what he was doing he was in the water, swimming out towards the wreck.

As soon as the ship wounded the water Jack Harkness lunged for his seat and the minimal safety that it would afford him, but it was already too late. The ship's sudden spin threw him back against the door, where skull met bulkhead with a resounding _crack_. Reeling from the impact, Jack was struggling with the door's controls when he heard a foreboding crunch and turned back to the fore of the ship in time to see the plasteel windows, already spiderwebbed from the impact of crashing into the water, surrender to the pressure of the ocean and collapse in. The cabin filled almost immediately, giving Jack minimal time to fill his lungs with air before he began to struggle towards the newly created exit. The ship was sinking fast, he noted, feeling panic begin to swell as he saw the water outside the craft begin to darken from cerulean to navy. His entire body felt like it was on fire by the time he managed to get out of the ship and begin the long struggle up towards the brilliant smudge of the sun. It seemed like hours before he broke the surface, his head pounding and his lungs seared. The gasp of breath he took was half seawater and he began to choke and splutter as he thrashed about, trying desperately to stay afloat. Just when it seemed Jack's strength would give out, a pair of wiry arms circled his waist and he was tugged sharply upwards. A drawling voice close to his ear told him to stop his struggling and lie still, and Jack was only too happy to oblige.

Jack Sparrow was surprised to discover that the drowning creature seemed, at first glance, to be as human as he, if a bit cleaner. It was a fairly simple matter to duck under the flailing arms and catch hold of the man. It was another thing altogether, Jack discovered, to haul him back to shore. The man was heavier than he looked, probably due to the thick blue suit he was wearing. Pausing a moment with one hand on a piece of floating wreckage, Jack pulled a knife out of his boot and slid it up the inside of the jacket, neatly slicing off all of the silver buttons. A bit of a waste, really, but what good was silver to the dead? Not bothering to contemplate that, Jack divested the man of his jacket and resumed the arduous task of returning to dry land with him. The removal of the jacket made things much, much easier, and Jack Sparrow began to be a little suspicious of what this man might have been keeping in it. He reminded himself to ask as his feet finally touched sand and he dragged the limp body up onto the dry sand of his own little island. For a moment it seemed like the man was dead, and all of that had been for nothing, but then he coughed and twitched and cracked open his eyes. Jack leaned over him, anxiously picking at one strangely perfect white button.

"Am I dead?" Jack Harkness croaked, squinting clearly up at the one who had pulled him out of the water. The sun behind his head threw his features into shadow and lit up his wet hair like a halo. Even though he was admittedly a little on the grimy side, he was ridiculously beautiful.

"I should hope not," Jack Sparrow answered him with a frown, mirroring the other's puzzled expression. "I've gone out of me way to rescue you and I've got a lot to ask you, and if it turned out you were dead I think I'd be rather insulted." His accent was difficult to place. It was flat, and a little jarring... he sounded like he didn't come from anywhere at all. He definitely wasn't from anywhere Jack had been, and that narrowed things down considerably.

"Well then," said the man with a dazzlingly white smile, pushing himself into a sitting position, "I'll just have to do my best not to die. I'd hate to insult somebody as pretty as you." He gave a little wink, bringing about a further puzzlement and a tiny smirk in his companion.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Jack announced, sticking out his hand. The sharp burst of laughter that his introduction besought about startled him a little, and the extended hand wavered in uncertainty. "You've 'eard of me, then?"

"No," the man said, laughing as he took Jack's hand in a warm and entirely too friendly grip. "But it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Captain Jack Harkness." The handshake, if it could be called that anymore, was still going on as Jack Harkness asked, "so what is this place? What do you do for fun around here?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Jack Sparrow admitted, also feeling a bit reluctant to relinquish his grip on this strange newfound friend. "I've just been marooned," he explained, seeing the puzzled look on the other's face.

"Oh." His hopes sank considerably. He'd been hoping that getting rescued by another human being meant that he must have crashed somewhere near civilisation, but it seemed that his rescue might not have prolonged his life by much. "This is one of those desert islands, I guess?"

"That it is," he agreed apologetically, finally releasing Harkness' hand and sinking back on his heels. "There's naught here but the sand and the trees. Except, of course, meself and, now yerself." The man's peculiar way of speaking made Harkness smile. Glancing down at the other's dirty, cloth-wrapped hands, he noticed a strange scar, puffy like it had been branded into the man's arm. A letter. Assuming this was Earth and sometime in the eighteenth century, Jack didn't think that sort of thing was done to a person voluntarily.

"What did you do for fun before you were marooned?" He asked, leaning back on his heels. The other regarded him levelly, and for a moment Harkness was afraid he was going to be refused an answer, or worse, be lied to.

"Piracy," Jack Sparrow said cooly, staring at him as though waiting for a reaction. He was puzzled when all he got was a smile. "And what of yerself? Are you a milit'ry man, Captain Jack Harkness?"The heavy blue coat had certainly had a kind of uniform, military air to it, but the man's attitude certainly did not. Though he dressed like one of Her Majesty's finest, he acted like... well, a pirate.

"Sort of," Harkness said, wondering how he could possibly explain Time Agents and the Human Empire to an eighteenth century sailor. "I, ah, worked for the government." Then he saw Jack Sparrow's eyes narrow and he was quick to amend, "but I quit. We had a bit of a falling-out and now I'm sort of a Jack-of-all-trades."

"I see," was all Jack Sparrow said, treating Harkness to a golden grin and a wave of remarkably foul breath. Then he lurched to his feet and wobbled off unsteadily down the beach. Harkness stared after him, admiring the view and wondering where the man was headed. Briefly, he worried that the pirate might not be coming back for him and considered running after. A general complaint from most of his muscles advised otherwise, however, and Harkness sank back into the sand and closed his eyes.

Much, much later, he was awakened by the crackle of fire and an arrhythmic tapping on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Jack Sparrow standing over him, grinning and waving two sloshing bottles half-full of an enticing brown liquid.

"Ye'll never guess what I found," Jack Sparrow said as he dropped one bottle on Harkness and flopped down beside him. Scrambling to catch the bottle before it rolled into the ocean, Harkness uncorked it and sniffed. A matching grin split his face.

"Rum? Where did you find this?" Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a long swallow, followed by a pleasurable half-grimace as the alcohol burn warmed his chill bones. "And is there more where it came from?"

"Cases of it," Jack Sparrow told him gleefully, drinking from his bottle with equal delight. "I figger it's a cache. Rum-runners." Noting Harkness' puzzled expression, he suggested, "smugglers?" Understanding lit behind Harkness' eyes and he laughed.

"Here's to smugglers!" Harkness crowed, holding up the bottle. Jack Sparrow echoed his sentiment and clinked his bottle against Harkness' before downing at least half of the remainder in one fell swoop. Harkness knew, logically, that drinking on an empty stomach and with no food in sight was a bad idea. But the rum was good and the company was better, and he'd never once passed up the opportunity to get absolutely smashed with a drop-dead gorgeous somebody. And he wasn't about to start.

Hours later, Harkness lay with his head on Jack Sparrow's chest, toying with the pirate's various strands of beads and amulets as they regaled each other with tales of their respective great adventures. Each had more or less reached his limit with the rum, being experienced enough drinkers to know the razor edge between well and truly sloshed and nauseous. The ache he'd felt earlier had long since washed away, leaving a pleasant kind of drunken thrumming in its wake. He could feel Jack Sparrow's heartbeat under his cheek, feel the swell of each breath and the rumble of each increasingly slurred word the pirate spoke. Moving slowly, a set of fingers wound themselves into Harkness' hair and began stoking, adding exponentially to his unreasonable feeling of general well-being. The rumble beneath his cheek started again and it took a few seconds for Harkness to realise he was being spoken to.

"I d'believe i's ye turn, love," Jack Sparrow reminded Harkness gently, blinking placidly as the professed jack-of-all-trades rose up onto his hands and knees, straddling Jack Sparrow's narrow hips.

"Don't have any more stories," Harkness confessed, trailing a feather-long touch along Jack Sparrow's jawline and twisting the little braid at his chin around one finger. As he spoke he leaned closer, keeping one hand dug into the sand for balance. Now that they had both pretty well soaked in rum, most of the pirate's foul smell had gone, or at least was covered up. "But there are lots of things that are more fun than storytelling." Eyes sliding shut, Harkness leaned down and kissed Jack Sparrow.

There was a rumble beneath him that could have been a sigh or a chuckle as Harkness felt broken fingernails slip under his shirt and begin trailing up his torso. Feeling an edge of teeth on his lower lip Harkness opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, very glad that the inside of Jack Sparrow's mouth tasted better than it smelled. The calloused hands beneath his shirt reversed direction, dragging over Harkness' nipples with a burst of sensation that made him gasp. Then they were fumbling at his throat but both of them were far too drunk to deal with things like buttons and so Jack Sparrow just ripped and sent all of those tiny perfect buttons scattering along the beach. Harkness didn't mind. He'd been meaning to get a new shirt anyway. He considered giving Jack Sparrow's shirt the same treatment, but the poor article of clothing looked like it had suffered enough so he pulled it over the pirate's head instead, even if it did mean breaking their lip-lock for a moment. Sitting back on his heels, Harkness stared down at the pretty picture Jack Sparrow made. With his arms lying above his head and his lips full and parted, Jack Sparrow looked about as debauched as Harkness was feeling.

"You're beautiful," Harkness told him before he thought better of it, laying his hands just above a viciously scar that began at one jutting collarbone and ended just above the gaudy sash. Head bent to focus on the difficult task, he slid his hands down and began work on untying the apparently intricate knot the offending piece of fabric had. Feeling a sharp tug, he glanced down to see that Jack Sparrow had unbuttoned his pants without his notice, and was now staring with the utmost confusion at Harkness' zipper. Harkness laughed and rolled off of the pirate, stripping his pants off quickly and tossing them in a direction which, hopefully, contained his shirt and not the dying fire or the ocean. Turning back, he saw that Jack Sparrow's had much the same idea and had managed to divest himself of the remainder of his clothing. Harkness was briefly entranced by Jack Sparrow's truly breathtaking array of scars, a collection that not only rivaled his own but defeated it entirely. Horrible though some of them wore, the twisting map was far more enticing than it was disgusting to him. Following his eyes, Jack Sparrow frowned a little and moved forward, pushing Harkness back into the sand.

"N'more stories, love," Jack Sparrow muttered into his ear before claiming his lips in another bruising kiss, rough hands gentle as they slipped between Harkness' thighs and found his hardening length. Harkness agreed with a wholehearted moan, pushing his hips up to meet the touch. The callouses on Jack Sparrow's hands from years of hard work scratched at the sensitive skin, on the line between pleasure and pain. Harkness knew he wouldn't be able to take it for long. He reached out, past Sparrow's delicate-looking wrists, and wrapped his own soft hands around the pirate's cock to stroke in quick counterpoint to Jack Sparrow's established rhythm. Then he bent down and their lips met for a moment before Harkness came with a startled shout that could have been the pirate's name or the name of some long-forgotten other lover. Opening eyes he hadn't realised he'd closed, Harkness grinned breathlessly up at Jack Sparrow who, he noticed, was looking bemused but a bit pained.

"It's been a while," Harkness admitted as he grasped Jack Sparrow's sharp hipbones and pushed, rolling him over and reversing their positions. "Let me make it up to you." He pushed Sparrow's legs apart and knelt between them, resting his hands on warm inner thighs. Leaning forward, he touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of Sparrow's cock and tasted the pearl there. A quiet groan and an all-over shudder answered him, and Harkness grinned. Moving infuriatingly slowly, he bent and licked a glistening trail from root to head. Thin fingers wound into his hair and tugged sharply. Harkness glanced up to see Jack Sparrow giving him a long-suffering glower.

"Do it or don't, darling,"the pirate growled, and Harkness bit back a laugh. Feeling obliging, he took a deep breath before bending and taking all of Jack Sparrow's length into his mouth. Sliding his tongue along the underside of Sparrow's cock, Harkness heard him keen a name that he was fairly certain didn't belong to either of them, but Harkness hardly thought now was the appropriate time to ask about it. It wasn't long before Jack Sparrow came, with a jerk of his hips and a gasp. Harkness swallowed it down and licked Sparrow clean, for once paying no attention to the ever-present fifty-first century threat of a long slow death by disease. He wanted to keep some part of this encounter inside him, this strange tryst with a strange and lovely man in a time so far from everything Harkness had ever known.

Feeling suddenly very lonely, Harkness moved up and laid his head on Jack Sparrow's shoulder, winding his arms around the pirates narrow waist. For a moment he was afraid that his gesture of affection would be rejected, but a pair of wiry arms settled around his shoulders and he felt a protective kiss to the top of his head.

"I like you," he barely heard Jack Sparrow tell him, on the edge of sleep. "I think I'll be keepin' you." Captain Jack Harkness sighed, and wished it was true.


End file.
